"The WandererWhat is she like?I was told—she is amelancholy soul.She is likethe sun to the night;a momentary gold.A star when dimmedby dawning light;the flicker ofa candle blown.A lonely kitelost in flight—someone oncehad flown."
"Before I fellin love with words,with setting skies and singing birds—it was you I fellin love with first."
"She lends her pen,to thoughts of him,that flow from it,in her solitary.For she is his poet,And he is her poetry."
"I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write."
"I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write."
"You were you,and I was I;we were twobefore our time.I was yoursbefore I knew,and you have always been mine too."